


Show You To Your Room

by lapenserosa



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, Fix-It, Good Guy Frank, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reunions, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapenserosa/pseuds/lapenserosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the telethon reunion, Frank isn't satisfied with the outcome and so he uses his resources to make things right without the bright lights, microphones, and cameras. He was able to put Dean on stage with Jerry, now to see if he can get Jerry off the stage and into a room with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show You To Your Room

The gleam of those gold-rimmed glasses in the dark of the Las Vegas night makes Jerry start. Nearly an entire day on his feet, cracking wise, and shilling for the cause and he is ready to collapse. He never made a point of memorizing the faces of the men and women on the set. Sure, he tried to make them happy and he wanted everyone laughing but one suit pointing him in the right direction off stage was pretty interchangeable at this point in the day. Maybe that explained how two men in sharp suits had taken him by the arm and led him out the back of theatre right to that single, solitary black car and the man, not remarkable in stature nor in his features. There was an edge about the man in those large gold-rimmed glasses that made Jerry swallow any wise cracks that he might have unleashed at rapid fire with the presumed mix-up.

That was it, a mix up, Jerry tried to reassure himself.

Yet when the rasping voice hit his ear he knew this was no mistake. Jerry was right where they wanted him and at the moment he was not entirely sure who ‘they’ were.

“Mr. Lewis,” The man in the large gold-frame glasses rumbled, holding open the door of the black town car with tinted windows, “get in the car.”

Jerry couldn’t resist, he let out a staccato chuckle, “Anyone ever argue with that, big fella?”

“No, Mr. Lewis,” A short gruff reply before Jerry felt the pressure of a hand at his back, urging on his forward momentum into the abyss of the car.

The man driving the car did not speak as they drove further out into the lonely desert landscape, leaving the glittering of Sin City in the rearview mirror. Jerry hadn’t felt his stomach ball into knots this badly since he was a schoolboy called, one again, to that bastard of a principal’s office.

“Any point in askin’ where you’re takin’ me?” Jerry asked, hoping his voice didn’t quaver as much in the other man’s ears as it did in Jerry’s own head.

The man’s posture didn’t change just a subtle shift of his head and that was all Jerry figured he was getting in the way of an answer.

 

Dean Martin sat in his hotel room, looking out at the lights of the city, drink by his side and cigarette burning away between his fingers. Dino had nervously consumed the first two drinks (and three cigarettes) in a hurry. He’d stopped speaking to Frank for want of things to say. He’d never dreamed that Frank would have pulled a fast one on him, and with the pressure of his best friend and hired muscle, put Dino on the same stage as Jerry.

Dean took a long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray, in a few moments he would light another.

For having lived through the 1960’s he’d never entertained putting anything funny in one of those sticks but after tonight he could use something to blunt his senses and the threat of tears.

It was fine for the kid to cry but Dino didn’t dare, no matter how badly he wanted to let the ample tears fall from his eyes like rain. Under the hot lights, the watchful eye of the camera, and the careful supervision of Frank; nothing else existed when he locked eyes with his old partner. Jerry still looked like a kid to him though they were both far from their youth at this point. The world had changed to a place unrecognizable from when they had first shared a stage. Audiences were much more aware, more judgmental, and yet everything scandalous that had been day-to-day in their heyday was now as if it was occurring for the first time – everything old is new again, as the song says. It was hard to be rattled when Dean started out as a kid himself, wet behind the ears, serving as the warm-up act to some gal with a swell set-up, two fans, and not much else, refining his go in front of a bunch of jerks in a packed house.

Though no matter how swell the set-up, the gals were never the problem. The jerks never rattled him. No, it was the first time that the kid jumped into Dean's arms, wrapped his legs around his waist, and pepper his face with sincere kisses that Dean nearly blew his cool on stage.

Jerry clung to him like his life depended on it…until it didn’t anymore.

Dean shook his head, poured a third, no, fourth - never mind he’d lost track, and yet he still couldn’t shake Jerry’s sincere words in his ear, the grip of his hand on Dean’s suit jacket, and how he could hear him stumble in front of the audience after he’d walked off stage, the backstage speakers projecting his few hems and haws throughout the theatre before he recovered.

Just as quick as Frank had gotten him in there undisturbed, he’d steered Dean into the back of the car and they made their way to the hotel suite where he now sat.

Dean couldn’t bring himself to turn on the television when that three-day weekend rolled around. He’d drink a bit more, smoke like it was going out of style, and eventually another three-day weekend would pass and another year without that familiar voice in his ear.

Dean was lost in thought when he felt two strong hands on his shoulders and then a firm kiss to his cheek. “Whadya say, Dino? You goin’ to cuss me out or crawl into that bottle tonight because I’d rather you do the first and we have it out if you’re pissed.”

Cigarette still in hand, Dean sat forward in his chair and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His throat felt tight. Frank had seen him cry, not a whole hell of a lot but enough that he knew he didn’t have to worry about it getting out or being ribbed for it later in front of the guys.

When Frank kept something close to the vest it was as good as buried.

“I’m not mad at you, Frank.” Dean whispered, slowly, not slurred with drink but tamped down by the pain in his heart and realization that he would probably never see Jerry again after tonight.

“Good,” Frank said, his voice solid. Dean knew that tone and at the end of it was usually a call to Jilly. “I’ve got something I want you to hear.”

Dean shut his eyes tight and rubbed them once more and then looked up at Frank with no expectation as to what would follow.

“It’s not like it was in the good ol’ days, it’s harder to keep things under wraps and away from the public when you’re in this business.”

Dean’s face was a mix of sadness and confusion as Frank continued.

“Though there is a benefit to kids these days thinking they’ve invented everything under the sun for the first time, they’re not wise to the language, to the way business was run 'back then.'”

Dean still wasn’t following him and made to interject but Frank held up a hand, first to silence him and then laid it affectionately on Dean’s knee. “What I’m sayin’ is you’ve done your time, pal. You and I, what was that you said last week, ‘they’ll hang my zipper in the hall of fame?’ We’re both there, Dino. We’ve screwed our way through enough chorus girls, admirers with stars in their eyes, to actual stars, that, what I’m sayin’, Dino, is you’ve put in the work. You’re not nineteen anymore.”

Dean interjects with a rueful laugh, “Thanks for reminding me.”

“It’s right that someone remind you, that you take a step back, and really look at how the world sees you. You’ll never be found out because they don’t want you to be found out. No one’s sending you to jail or taking you out to a back alley for a beating, not on my watch.”

Dean nodded. Frank didn’t need to continue and they both knew it. Frank had this town sewn up tight and though some had tried to rattle him from time to time Frank always came out on top.

“Look at me, Dino.”

Dean had been avoiding that intense blue gaze because he could almost guarantee that tears would begin to fall unbidden if he did.

Frank downed his drink and rose to his feet, coming to stand in front of Dean whom he helped pull to a standing position, nudging Dean’s chin with a gentle bump so they were finally eye to eye.

“The rest of what we’ve got, what you’ve worked for is no good if you’re letting regret weigh on you. You understand me?”

The tears that had been threatening to fall all night began to run down his cheek like someone had turned on a tap though he’d learned over many years not to snivel or sob. No one likes a pansy. Stuff it. Learn to hit or get hit.

Frank looked at him kindly before kissing both wet cheeks, giving him a tight hug, and smacking him firmly on his arm. “Snap out of it, Dino. Go wash your face, put something in those red eyes of yours, and meet me downstairs. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Dean didn’t bother forming an argument, just rubbed his arm, feigning hurt as he sauntered to the luxurious powder room of their suite. He did as he was told; splashing cool water on his face, a dab of cologne to his collar, and some eye drops that sat on the counter next to his shaving kit.

Through the bathroom door Dean heard the hotel suite door close and it wasn’t until he dried his face for a final time and was preparing to open the bathroom door that he heard the suite door open again.

Dean figured Frank had thought better of leaving him alone, that he would rather crawl into a bottle than spend another empty night chatting up admirers.

“I know better than to shine you on, Mr. Sinatra. Have some patience I’ll be there in a drink, or two.”

No familiar laughter, Frank’s warm voice did not come back with a jab or a joke, the entire suite was awash in silence and given their previous conversation Dean did not feel afraid, exactly, just uneasy as he rounded the corner to the sitting room of the suite.

 

It was the second time tonight that Jerry had been at a loss for words. There stood Dean looking shocked, and a bit tipsy, still in his suit, black jacket a little rumpled, his hair damp and curling, looking like he had so many years ago after a physically exhausting stage show, just with a few more hints of gray, that were nearly invisible in the low light of the hotel suite not like the hot lights of the stage earlier that day.

Dean was still as handsome as ever but Jerry didn’t know if he should turn around and leave or go to him, albeit they were both past the age where he could have leapt into his arms the way he had so many times before.

So Jerry stood there, uncharacteristically still, bereft of one-liners or smart remarks, just stunned into silence staring at that gorgeous man and his big melancholy eyes.

 

Dean slowly shook his head as an uncontrollable smile crossed his face – a swipe of his hair, the same nervous gesture, and that hand to his mouth like he was trying to wipe away the laughter threatening to bubble up at any moment.

Still shaking his head in disbelief he approached Jerry. When Jerry was within reach Dean extended a hand and to his surprise Jerry flinched and took a step back.

“You scared of me, kid or still sore?”

“No, just wondering where the guy with the bat is hiding,” Jerry said, looking about the darkened hotel suite.

“Just me here,” Dean took another step forward then stopped when Jerry didn’t come any closer.

“You know they hustled me out the back of the show and into some black car only to be driven out of the city, to come back in-“ Jerry’s voice had become nervous chatter but always with a ready laugh behind it.

“Welcome to my-“

Jerry cracked up, “Don’t say it.”

“How do you think Frank got me to your stage?”

“Bottle of J&B at the end of a fishing line?”

Dean couldn’t resist. He began to laugh. “They’d have pulled you from the air if that’d been the case.”

“Jesus, it took a whole case?”

Dean approached and this time Jerry didn’t move when he raised a hand and instead of smacking him, gripped the back of his neck and brought him in close enough so that he could feel Jerry’s nose pressed to his.

“I don’t even think that would’ve calmed my nerves. Sometimes I think the cigarette is a bad idea, I lift it and the audience can see me shaking.”

“I thought it was so your hand was busy and not hitting me. I was worried you might.”

“I might still,” Dean said with a smile, he’d regained his voice, rich and warm, and now he was pressing even further in Jerry’s space but Jerry wasn’t giving any ground.

“Big bully,” Jerry chuckled, placing both hands on Dean’s shoulders, feigning at shoving him backward but Dean didn’t budge.

It was an odd time for Dean to bring Frank to mind considering what he was considering but the scheme was clear. Like women, a spot on stage, or that proprietor that was always hassling you, Frank could make them appear and Frank could make them go vamoose for good. Frank was right though, and with Jerry pressed so close, it was easy to believe that he wouldn’t be lonely for him again, that they would be afforded their privacy and security. Dean had paid his dues.

“I know Mr. Sinatra is in the racket of making guys go away but you, Dino, you goin’ to dim my lights all by yourself?”

“Hey,” Dean barked back, that familiar tone of the hustler, slick and streetwise that he’d taken on during their act, “You testin’ me, kid?”

“Well gee, Mr. Martin, I-I was hopin’ you wouldn’t beat me up too bad, I got a show to do tomorrow.”

Still nose to nose, Dean could feel Jerry’s staccato breath tapping at his face, little puffs of stifled laughter and then a gasp when Dean grabbed him by the collar, wrapped his other arm around him, and hauled Jerry into the bedroom of the suite.

Somewhere during the short journey Jerry began to laugh heartily as feelings of joy, relief, and warmth overwhelm him. If he struggled it was only so he could hear Dean's frustrated grumbles intermingled with laughter as Jerry gave into his grasp, wrapping himself around Dean the best he could.

When Dean pauses at the foot of the bed, still holding tight to Jerry, it is the younger man who makes the next move, pressing his cheek to Dean, his lips grazing Dean’s ear.

“Second thoughts or you really angling to smack me?”

Now it’s Dean that’s laughing. “If I’ve pulled my punches for this long, kid, what makes you think things have changed?”

Jerry snickers and begins kissing each bit of exposed skin that his lips can find, tracing his way from nibbling on Dean’s ear and feeling him grow tense in his arms until their lips meet and Jerry is shoved backward onto the bed.

Jerry is the master of the pratfall and tumbling to the bed with Dean in his arms is better than any ovation or packed house ready to bust a gut at his antics. The cool man beneath him now is the only one he’s there to please and making Dean come undone was a thrill in itself.

Dean wasn’t about to make it easy, when Jerry would reach for him, moving to undo a button or shove aside a piece of clothing Dean would knock his hand away, resulting in a rollicking tussle and Jerry settling the struggle by sinking his teeth into the expanse of skin he’d been fighting to uncover.

Then a playful swat from Dean, connecting hard enough that it echoed in the room and made them laugh harder as Jerry yowled in mock-anguish. They could make an entire audience cease to exist when they locked eyes and soon enough the seriousness of the moment began to wash over their time and they clung to each other like any moment they might be ripped from each other’s arms.

When both men lay sated; Dean’s hair tightly curling and wet with sweat, Jerry pressed close to him still, as they simultaneously released a contented sigh that seemed to free the sadness and longing that lay just beneath the fault lines that had split them into two.

Jerry made no attempt to move away or give Dean his space and Dean was not in any hurry to put him even at an arm’s length away. In the warmth of the desert night, the room was a cool oasis and this moment was beyond either man’s imagining as they settled in to bask in the glow of the rapturous night and doubtlessly, the morning following shortly on its heels.

Dean doubted that Frank had any intention of looking for him or that he would return to the suite.

The men drifted in and out of sleep, reaching for each other even in their dreams like a pair of newlyweds only to awaken the other with amorous kisses and roving hands.

The morning would arrive in due time, they would don their suits and ties, take to their separate stages and exist under the burning spotlights apart from each other but Frank was right, they’d paid their dues.

There would be many more black cars to whisk one of them to a grand and private location always with the other waiting at end of the journey, beaming yet desperate after too many nights apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by every other Dean Martin fic posted to A03 and very grateful for the writer who introduced me to all the wonderful laughs this duo can provide at the time when I desperately needed a smile. 
> 
> I'd like to think this has some basis in reality but I think we all feel that way about our writings. I own nothing, profit from nothing, and regard the subjects of this work with the utmost respect. The hints at the mob associations are purely fiction and playing on the mythos of the persona he created - no basis in fact. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.


End file.
